COLD SMOKE: Fighting the Man In Japan

Here at Method we want to spread some of our print love online. It's for all those poor souls out there that are not in an area that Method Mag is distributed, like the US or Siberia. This is also to give a little taste for all of you in Europe that can buy the mag but just need in a little kick in the ass to be convinced that issue 10.1 is worth coughing up your hard-earned cash. So enjoy the full story of Cold Smoke: Fighting the Man In Japan because this heroic tale was too tall to fit into four spreads. Read Up!

I watched bemused as 50 well-behaved Japanese school children waited patiently and quietly at Heathrow Airport to board our slightly delayed plane. The same scene seemed unimaginable with a bunch of French, or for that matter English, school kids. The French would be off smoking Gauloises behind the teacher’s backs and making out in the corner, while the English kids would be trying to pickpocket a poor old granny or nicking sweets and perfume from the duty free shop. Instead, these kids were killing time with timed Rubik’s Cube challenges. On the other side of the waiting area Japanese tourists returning home sat with white surgical masks covering their mouths and noses, which I later found out were to protect others from catching their colds. Japan is about as culturally different from the west as humanly possible; from going through airport security to ordering food, everything is punctuated with great courtesy, consideration and order, making it one of the most unique and intriguing places to visit in the world.

Hard to enjoy the view with these walls outside your car window

One of the first things you notice driving from Sapporo airport towards Niseko is the size of the snow banks on each side of the road, which obscured any view of the surroundings for much of the drive. Instead of poles to mark the side of the road, here they have massive great pylons every hundred meters with reflective arrows indicating where the road should be, that’s how much snow there is! Our convoy of rental cars made its way slowly towards the mountains, full of jet-lagged snowboarders in various states of sleep deprivation, “The General” Tomi Toiminen (Quiksilver team manager) and myself leading the charge. Smoke billowed out of the Frenchie’s car, as they chain-smoked their way to the resort after being cooped up in a plane for twenty-odd hours, followed by the Scandi car, handbrake turning and four-wheel drifting towards our destination. 

I’ll take this opportunity to introduce our rather large, multi-faceted crew. Representing France we had Florent Ducasse, chain-smoker, photographer and philosopher, along with poker fanatic filmer Regis and pretty boy Emeric Front (who wouldn’t look out of place in a boy band but put him on a snowboard and he will crush any and everything in his path). The Scandi contingent included Finnish rally champion and all-terrain master Markku Koski, loose cannon and “I’ll-bet-on-anything” Hampus Mosseson, smooth operator Jakob Wilhelmson and our visual image expert for this mission, monsieur Blomy.

Niseko is probably Japan’s most famous resort. Until recently a secret powder stash for a chosen few, these days the resort is a staple for Aussie tourists and western photo crews. Niseko itself seems to be going through the changes traditional French mountain resorts like Chamonix went through ten to fifteen years ago, when the English decided to colonize and buy up all the property. But in this case it’s the Aussies (I’m not sure which is worse)… Posh wine bars full of middle-class Sydneyites stand shoulder to shoulder with traditional sushi bars and modern apartment blocks overlook dilapidated wooden shacks. Despite Niseko’s slightly confused demeanor, you can still see and feel the remnants of a “rootsy” mountain town.

Emeric Front sends a front three over the backside of these powder dumplings

All the stories and rumors about endless snow storms, waist-deep powder and perfect trees can’t prepare you for how much it snows in Japan. An endless conveyor belt of storms are manufactured over Siberia and sent across the Sea of Japan at regular intervals. Just as you think it’s going to clear up, the next storm comes charging in. There’s no point hanging around too long for a photo opportunity, with any luck you’ll score a few breaks in the clouds, otherwise just keep charging.

Our routine quickly settled into shooting and filming by day and riding for fun by night, messing around and setting each other stupid challenges. Most resorts in Japan, which is a lot (Japan has more resorts per capita than any other country in the world), have night riding. This alone is worth the 22-hour flight! At night a resort becomes a surreal and magical place, with big exaggerated shadows and freezing temperatures. Your senses become heightened charging through the trees in half-light, predicting the terrain ahead, trusting your instincts. Speeds feel greater and more intense, and the silence in the forest away from the lights is eerie. The floodlights are so powerful that even riding into the next valley is just about doable, although some of us did come out of the trees looking like Special Forces soldiers with half the forest sticking out of our beanies. Our night sessions were some of the most eagerly anticipated events on the trip, all cyber-nerding would immediately cease at the mere mention of one and a frantic scramble to don every last piece of warm clothing would eensue.

Jakob sunset street jammin'

While our snowboarding days were filled with idle banter, laughter and random conversations from world politics to J-Lo’s ass, as soon as the door to the house opened complete silence reigned, each rider consumed by their computers, chatting with distant friends for hours on end or perhaps updating their Facebook photos or for all I know just spending a little “me-time” on YouPorn. The first question a pro snowboarder asks these days when entering a hotel is: “Is there wireless and can I get coverage in my room?”. I found myself texting people in the next room to see if they wanted a cup of tea. But as soon as we left the cyber vortex of the house, normality resumed. Although there was another big culprit, aka IiPhones, which also led to a few long silences at dinnertime. Is this what the future has in store for humans? Will I have to communicate with my children solely through electronic devices?

Jakob tried to show Jakob this magic card trick but things went horribly awry...

A couple of days into the trip the French crew were struck down by a hideous flu, although I suspect the cause was probably the consumption of 200 duty free cigarettes in 24 hours! This however freed up Hampus, Jakob and myself to go and explore. The snow that day (as on most days we were there) was light, deep and perfect but we struggled to find anything of real interest that wasn’t obvious and/or slightly tracked out. We quickly concluded that all the best spots were in the “strictly out of bounds area”. The Japanese being a very orderly and law-abiding society, where breaking the rules is seen as dishonorable, we presumed ducking the rope wouldn’t be taken lightly. Coming from Europe though, and especially after living in France, a country where authority is mostly disregarded, where a rope merely suggests the possibility of danger and where you are perfectly free to go and kill yourself if you really feel like it, it was impossible to resist.

Markku enjoys it before he gets pulled over by the snow cops

We were like kids in a candy shop, running back to the gondola for more, covered head to toe in snow! It was like Super Mario-land in there, well spaced trees, thigh-deep powder, with ramps and mushrooms everywhere. We threw ourselves off anything and everything like lemmings, safe in the knowledge that the landings were as deep as they were ever going to be. Our joy, however, was short-lived; as we came out of the forest for the third time the ski patrol was there, waiting for us.

Both patrollers looked particularly angry, instantly launching into a long barrage of shouting in Japanese. Clueless as to whether they were insulting our mothers or upset about our rope transgression, all we could manage was the odd shrug. Luckily a Canadian guy turned up to translate before things got too ugly. Anyone would have thought we’d raped and pillaged their village rather than snuck under a rope for few pow turns. Off to the Head Patroller’s office we went after being informed he had the authority to call the police and have us deported.

Entering the office felt like stepping into the headmasters office back at school after being caught letting the air out of a teacher’s tires. I could see from the look in the Head Patroller’s eyes that we had seriously offended him, something the Japanese don’t take lightly. We endured a lot of shouting and eye-balling from the man, not quite sure whether telling them we were writing a story on the resort was to our detriment or advantage, as he made several stern-sounding phone calls to god knows who.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right? Buttery ass Japan in Japan, brought to you by Jakob Wilhelmson

We also had to endure a patronizing speech by the Canadian guy (who turned out to be the head instructor at the resort) about avalanche danger and our complete stupidity and ignorance. I could see Hampus biting his tongue out of the corner of my eye, the temptation to retaliate almost overwhelming all of us. But it would have just thrown more fuel on the fire and probably meant an instant trip to the airport. The fact is, we weren’t at home and should have known the Japanese would be sticklers for rules. Sorry, what I meant to say is we should have respected the local rules! I seriously wouldn’t have been surprised to see the police walk in with handcuffs at this point but after a lot of head bowing, apologizing and eating of humble pie, we were finally sent home without quite getting deported, on our second day in Japan no less.

Markku pokes one out for you!

The days seemed to be flying by pretty fast – we just rode, ate and slept, constantly trying to rest up for the next session. After another exhausting morning of thigh-deep powder, we were heading to the lodge for a rest and a bite to eat when we first saw it. It was propped up amongst all the other garish neon snowboards, standing out like a classic car, clean lines, understated and classy. It looked more like a 70’s surfboard than a modern snowboard. Short, with the widest concaved pointy nose imaginable and a stubby swallowtail, it had a completely black top sheet with a small red teardrop marking on the nose. After closer inspection we concluded it was a fine bit of craftsmanship and not some old 80’s board purchased on e-Bay by an unsuspecting novice. It seems the unique conditions found here have led the locals to experiment in board design to find the perfect Niseko powder stick. Throughout the week we saw more and more of these unusually shaped swallowtails, usually attached to people with snow shoes and poles in their backpacks, heading out into the mountains with a knowing look in their eyes.

Hampus awakens the sleeping spirits of the sacred forest with this screamer

I later found out with a little research that this was a Gentemstick, the brainchild of Tokyo surfer Toru Tamai, locally designed and manufactured with typical Japanese attention to detail and only the best materials. Niseko is a refreshing change from snowboarding’s freestyle oversaturation, Japan’s freeride outpost where the parks go unridden for weeks and halfpipes become double-overhead slashable waves of powder. A place where serious powder heads sleep in their cars, wash dishes and do whatever it takes to ride all season on their locally made boards that would be about as useful as an ironing board in the park. All this in a country obsessed with Shaun White and snowboard fashion, a country where you can walk into a snowboard shop to buy a full set-up complete with the same sticker job as JP Walker or Jeremy Jones in their latest video parts. Ask most young Japanese snowboarders and they’ll rattle off the names of the TTR top ten and probably tell you their stance and favorite trick to boot.

Stentiford (the author) comes charging out of the tidal wave of fluff

The nightlife in Niseko wasn’t of particular note. There were no sake-fueled all-nighters with strippers firing ping-pong balls out of their nether regions (or is that in Thailand?), nor dancing on tables singing karaoke until 5 am. About as wild as it got was a drum ‘n bass “party” in someone’s living room with warm beer. In fact on this trip it was more about the local culinary delights than drunken debauchery. Oh, how times have changed! We spent our evenings exploring the restaurants of Niseko, eating teppanyaki, sushi and all kinds of noodle soups. We often found ourselves staring at something unrecognizable to the western eye. In these instances a quick game of roshambo was the only solution. I seemed to bear the brunt of these dishes after many a sound thrashing by Hampus. But most of the time I was pleasantly surprised, apart from the fermented bean curd, which I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.

Jakob sets the pace as our heros continue their epic saga

We quickly realized that the romanticism of sitting on the floor at a traditional sushi restaurant wasn’t for us. We looked more like a group of retirees sitting down to eat than professional athletes. Knees cracked, hips creaked and everyone groaned as they sat down cross-legged at the low table, fidgeting constantly to try and find a comfortable position. By the time the food arrived most of us were lying on our backs, half asleep. It’s good to know that even with the Olympic onslaught snowboarding hasn’t gone completely soft. Not everyone is traveling with a personal trainer, doing yoga every morning and drinking protein shakes yet. Many of us can still look forward to an arthritic, opiate-filled old age like most decent skateboarders.

Markku Koski threading the needle though some trees

Niseko is to Japan what Chamonix is to Europe and Jackson Hole is to the US – hectic! But with the added advantage of a shitload more snow… We quickly realized that the Japanese myth that no one ventures into the trees is literally a myth, at least here. The cat is officially out of the bag! Personally, I blame Nicolas Müller. At every spot you go to in Niseko you have the sudden realization that you’ve seen it before somewhere… Oh yeah, Müller had a double page spread on that, oh yeah and he bomb-dropped off that and wasn’t that the pillow line he did? We knew there were at least three other photo/film crews around, if not more, so we decided it was time to get off the beaten track.

Hampus mashin it up in the trees

The drive north to Furano, our next destination, was long, gray, rainy and hung over. Our initial excitement of adventure and discovery had been dampened the night before, when a few Niseko locals informed us that Furano was flat and not particularly interesting. Furano itself feels more like a city than Niseko, but slightly run down and in need of a face-lift. Basically the last place you’d imagine to find good mountain resort. Our hotel was on the outskirts of town, close to the mountain and yes, no wireless in the rooms. I was surprised there wasn’t a rebellion in the ranks right there and then. The hotel had a beautiful 70’s décor still in immaculate condition and was only half full with middle-aged Aussie skiers. The distinct lack of “core” snowboarders made us a little nervous but also gave us hope that we had managed to escape the crowds.

Jakob diving into the cream one more time

Arriving at the base station, the resort felt deserted. We were convinced the place was closed and only the bad Japanese pop music coming from speakers at the front of the restaurant gave us hope. The huge cable car station and restaurant gave an initial impression of a thriving and hip resort, but as we walked down echoing corridors looking for the ticket office the place was utterly deserted, apart from the odd skier and a handful of cars in the lot. The restaurant was the size of half a football pitch and had a similar décor to our hotel. With a population of 120 million people on a landmass smaller than California, you don’t get too many empty spaces in Japan, but for some reason unbeknownst to us Furano seemed about as popular as OJ Simpson.

It hadn’t snowed for a day or so and the sky was a dull gray, but as we cast our eye over the mountain on the way up the gondola we saw a lot of potential, from steep trees and windlips to drops of varying sizes. Our pessimistic mood started to lift, maybe we had actually struck gold, maybe we’d stumbled across a Japanese gem with only a few groups of South Korean pensioners on a package holiday to share the powder with.

All good runs come to an end, Emeric hitting the breaks before becoming roadkill

The crew found a nice tree jib to session. As there were too many riders hitting the same spot, Hampus and I decided to do a little recon. We shared a completely surreal ride on an empty chairlift, looking around at the deserted slopes being bludgeoned by shitty Japanese pop blaring out of speakers on every lift pylon, with the occasional interlude for an announcement of special meal offers in the resort restaurant in broken English. We concluded it must be to keep the Korean pensioners awake on the lift but it made no sense to have so much noise pollution in such a beautiful place.

But the run we found for our trouble more than made up for the pain caused to our ears. We came across the steepest terrain we’d seen so far in Japan, with perfectly spaced trees and pillows everywhere. Now, Furano is roughly the same distance from Sapporo airport as Niseko, yet 90% of people seem to choose Niseko. Admittedly, Furano is a bit rough around the edges and could do with a lick of paint, but the emptiness and terrain more than make up for it. We spent hours debating our different theories on this matter over the next few days as we explored the mountain at our leisure with not a soul in sight. Was it the lack of media exposure, had there been nuclear contamination we didn’t know about or was it just the herd mentality inherent in humans? This famous Japanese proverb sums it up nicely: “A frog in a well does not know the great sea”.

Japan lived up to all our expectations of endless snow, perfect powder and epic trees, but I think the most lasting impression was made by the Japanese people. Their courtesy, consideration for others and attention to detail is second to none and very refreshing coming from our self-obsessed western world. Furano and the fact that there are probably another twenty resorts exactly like it out there to be discovered is huge motivation to return another year. Sayonara Japan, I’ll be back!

Text by James Stentiford
Photos by Daniel Blom